In the Long Run

Grandma wings, bingo arms, turkey drumsticks, bat wings, Relief Society arms. No matter what you call ‘em, nobody wants ‘em. Surely you know of the dreaded condition of which I write..gasp…FLABBY TRICEPS!! (insert Psycho violins here.)

Most women complain that as they age, their fat tissue migrates south and settles on the hips and thighs. My fatty tissue seems to have traveled to my upper arms. My suspicion was verified when, in a recent body composition analysis, my fitness specialist measured the fat percentage of my triceps to be more than that of my abdomen or hips. Immediately I became hyper-sensitive, and began noticing the svelte arms of women around me.

For instance, there’s Jody. She’s a former co-worker who moved away a year ago, and came back to visit this week. I saw her at the gym, tanned and healthy in her casual tank top. I spied right away her well-defined triceps and biceps. And then, as though, she KNEW…she put both hands on her hips while talking to me, and there was no denying her excellent musculature. It was all I could do to keep from staring, or from blurting out covetously, “I want your arms!”

This last weekend I helped with the registration and timing for the annual trail run held in the nearby mountains. The runners became objects of my jealousy, not only because of their excellence in competition, and their fierce determination and drive, but also because of their lean, lanky arms. I am still slightly green with envy a day later.

Do not expect a picture to accompany this post! But do expect that I will continue to do dips and triceps extensions and triceps pushups and Pilates, ad nauseam. Being a grandmother does not mean I must have mandatory Grandma wings!

Posted by Cyppy at 7:57 PM